A Life's Mosaic
by Dickonfan
Summary: Tristran makes a mosaic.


He sat in front of the pile of discarded tiles, stroking his hand lightly over them. He closed his eyes, feeling the smoothness of the tiles' surfaces and the warmth of the colors as he caressed them. A picture formed in his mind. He opened his eyes, searched through the pile and took a tile or two here and there. As he held them in his hand, the image became clear and he knew what he must do with them.

ttttt

Tristran loved color. The land he came from didn't have as many colors, such bright colors, as the land he lived in now. Sometimes he went "scouting," not because of the need to report to Arthur about Woad movement but because he wanted to see colors other than brown and gray and dirty white. These were the predominant colors inside the Roman fort Cilurnum, which was almost at the midpoint along Hadrian's Wall. Outside the fort he could see shades of green from the variety of leaves on the trees and the different grasses that grew; he could see the variety of colors of the wild flowers and the berries growing on bushes; the colors of the streams and rivers.

Tris needed color, longed for color, and as long as he was confined to the fort, recovering from injury and infection, he felt its loss keenly.

But there was a reprieve in sight. The fort's commandant was having a new mosaic floor laid and in the arrogance of wastefulness, he was having the old mosaic tiles tossed into a heap along one of the turret stations built into the Wall. It was here that Tris sat, in the dawn's early light, searching through the heap, seeking out unbroken tiles of specific colors. He took a few at a time so as not to draw attention to his activity. Not to mention that he wasn't able to carry too many at a time right now. He was lucky to still have his arm. The surgeon and healers worked what Arthur would call a miracle and saved Tristran's arm despite the severe bone break and ensuing infection. Tristran wouldn't be going anywhere or carrying anything heavy for quite awhile.

So as the workers continued to discard the old tiles, Tristran continued his early morning sojourns to the heap. It took several such trips but eventually he had the tiles he needed. The mosaic floor tiles were cubes, each about the width of Tristran's thumbnail. He didn't need as many as he would if he were making a floor design, just enough for his own purpose.

He searched around the ground in the fort, looking for just the right stone for his foundation. Then he laid out the tiles in the pattern he needed to make the image which had formed in his mind. He did this on the stone to be sure the tiles would fit properly to make the picture he wanted. Then he transferred the tiles to a flat board, keeping each tile in its proper place.

The workers putting in the commandant's new mosaic floor kept the ingredients for making the cement into which the tiles were set at the back of the commandant's house. Tris was able to pilfer small amounts of the limestone and ash needed to make the cement. There was a guard watching over the materials during the night when the workers were relaxing in the tavern or sleeping. The fact that there was a guard did not present an obstacle for Tristran who knew how not to be seen when it suited his needs.

Finally, he had all the materials he needed to make his own mosaic. It turned out to be more difficult than he thought it would be. He could mix only a small amount of cement at a time since he had only a small vessel in which to mix the limestone and ash with water. And even though he was supposed to be convalescing in his room, getting lots of rest, others kept dropping by to see how he was doing, interrupting his work. Arthur, who would stop by and sit and talk with Tris about the goings on in the fort (like Tris really cared!) and the skirmishes he and the knights found themselves in. Arthur loved discussing strategies and tactics; he missed his scout, and friend. Vanora would come by with a tray of food if she hadn't seen him for a day or two. She thought how silly Tris was, not to understand he would heal faster if he ate regularly. Dagonet would come by to inspect the wound and leave some ointment and herbs for making a healing tea. Gawain would stop by just to chat about "stuff." Actually they were the only people who came to visit Tristran, but since he never knew when one or the other would knock on his door, he couldn't afford to make a substantial amount of cement at any one time, for it would dry out before he could use it. Plus he'd have to push the vessel holding it under his bed when a visitor stopped by, along with both the board that temporarily held the tiles in their correct places and the stone upon which he was actually cementing the tiles. It was a time-consuming activity, but was worth the effort to Tristran as he knew what he would have when he finished.

At long last, Tristran finished his mosaic. He was well enough healed by then that he was out riding and was getting in some practice with his sword and bow. His stamina was good and soon he would be able to go out scouting again. He needed strength in his arms for fighting as, for him, most of his fighting came while scouting.

In the evenings, when he returned to his rooms in the knights' barracks, he would retrieve his mosaic from the shelf on which he had placed it. He had no visitors anymore, now that he was practically whole again, and so he wasn't concerned that someone would come in unexpectedly and see it. He didn't want to have to explain its presence or its design to anyone. It was private, his alone to enjoy.

Which he did for a long time. Until the day he discovered it missing. He never did find it, or who took it, although he had his suspicions. He was angry at its loss and that someone felt free to enter his rooms, let alone steal something of his. It couldn't mean anything to whoever took it. Maybe the thief exchanged it for food or gave it to a girl he was wooing. But since all such possessions are fleeting, Tristran finally, stoically, accepted that it was gone. Anyway, all he really needed was what he always had anyway: his sword, his bow, his horse, Bata'ar, and Wylda with the golden eyes and beautiful feathers.

ttttt

"Hey, Chris, come look at this." One of the archeologists digging at the ruins of Cilurnum fort had finally uncovered the small mosaic from the layers of mud and had carefully cleaned it off. He handed it to Chris for closer inspection.

"Well, I'll be," said Chris. "Could it be part of a larger mosaic? I don't recall any other pieces being found around here. It looks intact, though. Perhaps it's some small home decoration."

What was found was Tristran's mosaic, buried for almost 1600 years, where it was lost.

"The design is so unusual," Chris commented. "It looks like the steppes region of eastern Kazakstan or possibly western Mongolia, but has trees and flowers and a river that look like, well, here, at this place. As though someone combined the two disparate landscapes into one piece of art."

Chris's colleague said, "Check the back, see if there is any kind of marking that might help us identify it."

Chris turned it over, and washed a bit more mud off the back. She brought out her magnifying glass to get a good look at what appeared to be some sort of mark.

"For the life of me, it looks like someone's cut the shape of a curved sword and … is that an … apple? Here, you look." Chris gave the mosaic to her colleague who also looked at it with the magnifying glass.

"Geez, Chris, it looks like a sword and, maybe, an apple to me, too. What do you make of that? How bizarre!"

"Let's take it back to the museum and see if we can find any reference to these markings found on other mosaics. It might be the mark of the artisan who made this beautiful piece."


End file.
